Chapter Eight
“Riveting. I believe that was the word you used, wasn’t it, Lissie?” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and tapped one toe on the carriage floor. “You’re no better, Annabel, with that speech about elegant manners and the glory of England. And you, Aurelie, what were you thinking, with your très jeune and très beau?”
A beat of silence, then, “She didn’t actually say très beau,” Lissie offered meekly.
Charlotte pressed her lips together. “It was implied.”
“Come now, Charlotte.” Annabel was occupied with smoothing her gloves over her elbows, but she glanced at Charlotte, her face amused. “You must admit it was diverting the way you insisted he despises you, and then in the very next breath he appears in your box, looking at you the way a pickpocket looks at a gold watch.”
“Oui!” Aurelie cried. “That is just how he looked at her. Like he wanted to snatch her away.”
Lissie cocked her head, considering. “No, it was more the way a child looks at a tray of lemon tarts right before he steals ones. He wanted to snatch her away, yes—so he could devour her in private!”
Charlotte gritted her teeth. Had Lissie just compared her to a tart? “For God’s sake, Lissie.”
Annabel gave her glove one last tug. “You must admit he admires you, Charlotte.”
“I admit nothing of the sort. He doesn’t admire me.”
She hadn’t a doubt of that, but he’d gone to a great deal of trouble to make her friends think he did. Charlotte wasn’t sure what he stood to gain from doing so, but she was certain of one thing—whatever he gained, she’d lose. “You can’t mean to say you believed that rot about how anxious he is for my company, for I can assure you, Shakespeare’s wasn’t the only performance at Drury Lane this evening.”
Annabel leaned forward to pat Charlotte’s hand. “The question isn’t, my dear, whether or not he’s sincere in his admiration, but whether or not it’s likely to be amusing for us to indulge his antics.”
“But you don’t look diverted, Charlotte,” Lissie said. “Don’t say you’re concerned about Captain West?”
“As concerned as any fox with a drooling hound nipping at her heels. Make no mistake, my dears. He means to chase me out of London.”
“That blasted nonsense again?” Lissie frowned. “Really, Charlotte, it would be far more convenient if you had no family, like the rest of us.”
Charlotte couldn’t quite agree with that sentiment, so she remained silent.
“Other members of your family have tried to banish you to the country, Charlotte.” Annabel ticked them off on one hand. “Your mother, and Lady Eleanor. Both of your brothers—Lord Carlisle and Mr. Sutherland—and most recently Mr. West. Yet here you are in London still. None of them has proved a match for us, and neither will Captain West.”
“He proved a worthy enough match for the French, didn’t he? You’ve all read the papers. He’s not a man one trifles with.”
Annabel waved this away with a careless smile. “Now don’t fret, dear. It was only a visit to your theater box, nothing more. No harm done.”
Aurelie hadn’t said a word during this exchange, but now her face went pale, and she began to babble incoherently in French.
“What is it? For heaven’s sake, Aurelie.” Lissie grasped the Comtesse by the shoulders. “Enunciate!”
Aurelie wrung her hands. “Ah, well, that is…oh, dear. Charlotte, you’re going to be cross with me. You see—”
“Later,” Annabel hissed as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Devon’s right there on the street waiting to hand us out. We don’t want him to know all our secrets.”
In the next instant Devon opened the carriage door. “Lady Smythe?” He held out his hand to Lissie, then one by one assisted all four ladies from the carriage. Charlotte was the last to alight. “Ah. There you are, Lady Hadley. I hope you’ll be entertained this evening.”
Charlotte glanced up and down the quiet street. They were on the corner of Pall Mall and St. James’s Streets, several blocks south of White’s. She gave Devon a bemused look. “I have great faith in you, my lord, but even you can’t sneak us into White’s.”
Devon smiled down at her. “True enough, but what do we need with White’s?” He ushered them onto St. James’s Street toward Piccadilly, but they’d only gone a dozen or so steps before he stopped in front of an arched, gated entrance with a narrow passageway that let into a courtyard hardly bigger than a pocket handkerchief. There was but one gaslight fixed into the timbered roof at the end of the passage, and Charlotte stumbled a little on the uneven stones, but Devon caught her arm before she could fall. “Careful. We’re nearly there.”
“What an odd little courtyard,” Lissie said. “It’s rather darling, isn’t it? What is this place, Devon?”
“It’s called Pickering Place. A little off the main path, but easy enough to find if you know it’s here.”
Annabel gave Devon a puzzled look. “So dark and quiet. It looks far too respectable to be a gaming hell.”
He chuckled. “It was notorious enough at one time, but we’ll have a quiet game this evening. It’s private, by invitation only.”
Charlotte twinkled up at Devon. Her uneasiness was fading the farther they got from Drury Lane and that odd scene with Julian. Annabel was right, of course. He’d come to her box this evening, yes, but what of it? He had a scheme in hand, certainly, but the widows weren’t a pack of cork-brained schoolgirls. They weren’t likely to be seduced by a few smooth lies and a handsome face.
She gave Devon a flirtatious smile, determined to relax and enjoy his attentions, Julian be damned. “And are we invited, my lord?”
He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her eyes, and a slow smile drifted across his face. “You are. By me.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Lissie slipped one arm through Devon’s and linked her other with Annabel’s. “Shall we?”
Charlotte linked arms with Aurelie to follow them, but the Comtesse dragged her feet with every step until they fell behind. “What’s wrong, Aurelie? Don’t you fancy a game? I’m sure they’ll have faro.”
Aurelie’s gaze darted around the courtyard as if she expected someone to leap from the shadows. “Oh, Charlotte. You’re going to be dreadfully angry with me, I’m afraid.”
Charlotte gave her friend a playful frown. “Why? Do you plan to take all my money at the tables?”
“Non, it’s just that—”
“Is something amiss, ladies?” Devon turned and held out a hand to Charlotte. “Lady Tallant and Lady Smythe are waiting.”
Charlotte tugged on Aurelie’s hand. “No, nothing’s amiss, my lord. Come along, Aurelie. We’ll set to rights whatever is troubling you when we get inside.”
Much later that evening Charlotte would remember those words, and marvel at her own blithe unconcern. If only she’d listened to Aurelie, she might have been prepared for what awaited her inside.
But she hadn’t listened. Instead she’d entered the drawing room on Devon’s arm, half her attention on some pleasant nonsense he was whispering in her ear and the other half on a perusal of the room—three dozen people or so, most of them gathered around the hazard table—when a dark gaze caught hers and refused to let go.
By then it was too late.
“Lady Hadley? You’ve gone rather pale.” Devon followed her gaze. “What, is it the tall, dark-haired gentleman? Who is he?”
Charlotte moistened suddenly dry lips. “He’s…West. Captain Julian West.”
“Indeed? I’ve heard of him.” Much to her relief Devon didn’t fall into raptures over Julian’s heroism, but said only, “Is he here for you?”
It was obvious by this point Julian was here for her, as he hadn’t taken his eyes off her once since she stepped through the door, unless it was to turn his lethal scowl on Devon. “Yes, I’m afraid so. My sister is married to his cousin. He’s…family of a sort.”
Devon shook his head, and Charlotte saw with surprise he actually looked amused. “Ah. Your brother-in-law has sent for the cavalry, quite literally. Will you introduce me, my lady?”
She hadn’t much choice, had she? Charlotte let Devon lead her across the room to Julian. “Captain West,” she muttered as they joined him. “What a surprise to see you here. Were you invited?”
Julian raised an eyebrow at her accusing tone. “Good evening to you as well, Lady Hadley.”
“Good, Captain? That’s not quite the word I’d choose to describe it. May I present Lord Devon? My lord, this is Captain Julian West. His regiment is lately returned to London from Paris.”
Julian didn’t bow, but instead gave Devon a nearly imperceptible nod. “Devon. I used your name to gain entrance this evening. Worked as well as if I’d had a key to the door. I expect that’s the case with every gaming hell in London, isn’t it?”
Charlotte gasped. Julian’s address was so inexcusably rude she half expected Devon to call him out, but his lordship only chuckled and offered Julian a careless bow. “Good evening, Captain West. Of course all of London recognizes your name. What an unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance this evening.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment the two men took each other’s measure. They were of a height, but the similarity ended there. Every inch of Devon was golden hair and languid ease, whereas Julian was dark and formidable, his lean, muscled body vibrating with tension.
Charlotte held her breath, but after a moment Devon turned to her, all casual solicitousness. “What do you fancy tonight, Lady Hadley?”
Charlotte stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, but then her mouth fell open in horror. Who did she fancy? Why, what in the world would make Devon ask such a question? Surely he didn’t mean to imply she fancied Captain West? Because that was sheer nonsense. Other ladies might sigh over his dark eyes and wide shoulders, but she knew better than to be taken in by—
“Lady Hadley?” Devon frowned down at her. “Your game?”
Her face flooded with heat. Of course. Her game. “Piquet.”
“Very well. Piquet it is.”
He took her arm, but before he could maneuver her away, Julian stopped them. “What a coincidence. I fancy a game or two of piquet this evening, as well.”
Devon studied Julian, a faint, sardonic smile on his face. “How interesting. I imagined you’d play at Hazard, Captain, or Rouge et Noir.”
“I don’t play any game where the house takes the advantage.”
“Ah. You put your trust in your skill, then? Games of strategy fascinate, I grant you, but a gentleman has only himself to blame when he loses.”
“And himself to congratulate when he wins.”
Devon laughed as if delighted. “Well said, Captain.” He drew Charlotte’s arm more firmly through his, and Julian followed them to a table in the corner of the room where a small group of ladies and gentlemen were paired off in various stages of play. “What’s your wager, Lady Hadley?”
Charlotte looked Julian in the eyes. “A guinea per point.” Her pockets were deeper than his. Perhaps he’d think twice on that wager.
He didn’t. “A guinea per point.”
Devon raised an eyebrow, but he retrieved a fresh pack of cards from a wooden box at the center of the table and handed it to Charlotte. “Will you cut for the deal, my lady?”
Charlotte cut, the edges of the cards slippery against her damp fingers. Julian won the deal, but he pushed the deck back across the table to her. “The lady deals.”
“A questionable move in terms of strategy,” Devon said, “but of course the Captain is a gentleman. I leave you in good hands, Lady Hadley.”
Devon moved away, but behind Julian’s back Charlotte saw him wander over and whisper in Lady Annabel’s ear. Annabel looked over her shoulder, eyes wide, and began to nudge her way through the crowd of bodies at the Hazard table.
Charlotte frowned and shook her head. She’d handle Julian herself.
“I confess I’m disappointed,” he said, before she could speak. “I thought Devon would arrange a truly spectacular diversion for the widows tonight—something to exceed a masquerade at a west end whorehouse.”
Charlotte finished the deal and placed the talon in a neat pile between them. “Oh? What did you envision?”
He glanced at his cards. “Carriage races in Hyde Park at midnight perhaps, or a stroll through the rookeries in the dark. A reunion of the Hellfire Club? Which diversion would you prefer, my lady?”
“Ah well, as wicked as I am, why limit myself to just one?”
“Do you suppose I think you wicked, Lady Hadley? Or do you think it yourself?”
“Both of us, I imagine, and yet I wouldn’t dare speak for you, Captain.”
“But you’d dare any number of other things, wouldn’t you? That’s rather the problem, you see.”
Her gaze shot to him over the top edge of her cards. “What I fail to see is how it’s your problem.”
“You mistake the matter. The problem isn’t mine any more than this game of piquet is mine. One can’t play alone, after all. The problem is yours, as well.”
Charlotte plucked lightly at her cards, rearranging them in her hand, but under her heavy silk gown her spine had gone rigid. “Are you so much cleverer than my brothers, Captain? Than your cousin? You’re not the first to try and take me in hand and shuffle me about like a deck of cards, and yet for all their combined efforts, here I remain.”
His face hardened. “Do you boast of that? You’d tear your family apart for a bit of diversion? For wicked widows, wagering, and whorehouses?”
Dear God. His expression. Charlotte blinked blindly down at her cards to avoid the look of cold disgust on his face. Perhaps she deserved his loathing for being so weak, for hurting her family.
But I can’t go back there…
“Shocking, isn’t it?” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “I can’t imagine why you bother with me at all. Why not leave me in London to suffer the consequences of my wicked behavior?”
“That’s not my decision to make. Or yours either, as it happens.”
She made herself smile, but her face felt stiff, as if she still wore the mask from the brothel. “Forgive me if I don’t take your threats seriously, Captain. I’ve heard this all before, you see.”
“Not from me.”
“No, but what makes you any different than the others? Why should you succeed when they’ve failed?”
How far will you go, Julian?
But his answer didn’t matter, did it? Because as far as he’d go, she’d go further, just as she’d done in the brothel the other night. As far as she must.
Julian tossed three cards on the table and drew from the talon. “Point of five.”
Charlotte barely glanced at her own cards. “Good.”
Julian declared quint, then sixiême, and recorded his points on a slip of paper. “You’re going to lose, my lady.”
“The game has just begun, Captain.”
He shrugged and drew from the talon to replace his discarded cards. “I had an illuminating chat with your friend the Comtesse this evening. Did you know that, Lady Hadley? She was quite forthcoming when I asked about your plans tonight. It took no more than a minute or two to get this address from her.”
Charlotte’s cards swam in front of her eyes. It was just as she’d suspected. He planned to charm her friends to get to her—to make her endure his company until he made London so intolerable she had no choice but to flee the city. And what then? She had no place left to go except to Bellwood, or worse, Hadley House.
Her heart began a panicked thrashing in her chest, but she forced herself to lay a card calmly on the table. “Point of two.”
“Not good, Lady Hadley.”
She declared a tierce, then a trio, both of which were discounted in favor of his cards. “Perhaps the Comtesse won’t be so accommodating the next time.”
“Perhaps not, but she was quite sympathetic when I told her about our past tragic love affair. She kept babbling about something—a wicked widow and a war hero, I think it was. She became rather breathless with the romance of it. It’s curious, Lady Hadley, but she seems to think a reconciliation might take place between us. Now, where do you think she got such an idea?”
Panic welled in Charlotte’s throat, nauseating her.
I’ll go as far as Julian will, as far as I must.
But she knew the words were a lie, because she could never go as far as he had tonight. To use what had once been such a tender love between them to tantalize her friends with the promise of a reconciliation that would never happen—such ruthlessness, such heartlessness stunned her.
Dear God, what had happened to him? She searched his impassive face, his cold dark eyes for the barest hint of the man he’d once been, but there was nothing there.
A chill settled over her heart. She didn’t recognize him.
Words formed on her lips, but before she could choke them out he spoke again. “The game is over, my lady.” He spread his cards across the table. “One hundred points. May I see your cards?”
Charlotte lowered her cards to the table, her hands shaking.
Julian glanced at them and made a disappointed noise in his throat. “Pity. You’re unlucky tonight. Or perhaps piquet isn’t your game after all?”
She looked at the cards arranged on the table, but she couldn’t make sense of them. “The score?”
“You owe me two hundred ten guineas, my lady.”
Charlotte groped inside her reticule with numb fingers. “My vowels—”
Julian grasped her hand, trapping it inside her reticule. “I don’t think so, Lady Hadley. I’ll have your coins now, if you please.”
Charlotte stared at him. “You’re mad. Do you think I’d carry two hundred ten guineas in my reticule?”
He didn’t let go of her hand. “I’m afraid that’s not my problem, but as I see you’re in a predicament, I might be willing to forgive the debt entirely. In exchange for a promise from you, that is.”
A promise. To leave London, or something equally impossible. She didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.
Her face must have shown her distress, for all of a sudden she saw Devon striding across the room toward her, his mouth set in a hard line. She half rose to meet him, but Julian tightened his grip on her hand.
And that’s when she felt them, the hard stones slick and cool between her fingers.
Her choker.
She jerked hard against Julian’s grasp. Her sudden movement must have surprised him, because he released her. She seized the heavy gold filigreed clasp, drew the choker from her reticule, and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a dull thud between them, the deep purple stones glittering in the muted light.
Julian stared at it for a moment, then raised his gaze to her face.
Devon had reached her chair, and he let out a low whistle. “You’d part with Hadley’s jewels?”
“No. They’re not Hadley’s. They’re mine.” Charlotte never dropped her gaze from Julian’s face. “A gift.”
“You brought jewels to wager?” Julian’s voice was oddly hushed, his face unreadable.
“No. I intended to wear the choker tonight, Captain. I adore it, you see. It’s one of my favorite pieces. Take it.” She rose to her feet. Her knees were shaking, but just a little bit. “It’s worth far more than two hundred ten guineas, but far less than a promise from me.”
From the corner of her eye Charlotte saw Annabel, Lissie, and Aurelie staring at her from the other side of the Hazard table, their mouths open in shock, but strangely no one followed her when she turned and left the room. Not her friends. Not Devon.
Certainly not Julian.
Perhaps they thought she’d only go far enough to find a quiet space to calm herself, but within seconds she was in the tiny courtyard. She ducked into a shallow recessed doorway, pressed her back against the rough stone wall, and drew great gulping breaths of air into her lungs.
There was no calm to be found in that house. No peace. Every day there were fewer places for her to run to, and if Julian had his way, if he managed to persuade her friends…
There would be no peace for her in anywhere in London.